Humanity
by Remedy for Chaos
Summary: -M- Wayne/Grayson:. Either way their days would follow as nothing ever happened and most nights would be filled with bated breath and the closest thing to romance Bruce was capable to giving.
1. Chapter 1

Humanity

Author's Note: First time attempting a Batman fic. Kind of surprised I never tried it sooner. Anyways, I left the ages quite ambiguous and I feel they're both a little OOC, but you'll get over it I am sure. I'm quite proud of this and a little constructive criticism would be _fucking __awesome_. Has not been combed over for errors, fair warning is fair.

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><p>"This shouldn't have happened."<p>

Dick had grown accustomed to hearing those words in the early reaches of the morning—before the birds sang, before the sun rose, even before Alfred awoke. He had grown accustomed to the familiar scent of the sex and sweat in the air and his body tangled into the crisp white sheets stained with cum and blood and lubricant. He had grown accustomed to it, and he enjoyed the familiarity. He especially enjoyed the familiarity afforded to him in the late night between him and the man who sat beside him, hands covering his face in shame.

Of course Dick did not allow the man to know that. Bruce Wayne always pulled the strings, was always the one in control, but to finally be the puppet master was a sweet satisfaction. To finally, in a way, be out of Bruce's shadow was like a sweet poison he refused to put down even though in the end Dick knew it would hurt him—and not in the pleasant way Bruce gave him the night previous and the night before then, and the week before that. No, the pain he would feel would be far from pleasing, but it would be worth it to pull his guardian's strings and to have the familiar scent of sex fill his heart and drive him dizzy with silent desire.

Most mornings as Bruce would begin his regime of pity and self-hate Dick would turn on his side, away from his guardian, and feign sleep, listening to the man breathe—sometimes slowly, calmly, others rapid and even _scared—_for several minutes before he would slip out of the bed, gather his clothes to make himself mildly decent, and then disappear—sometimes through the window into the glinting dawn, others through the door, depending on if Alfred would be awake or not.

That morning would be different. Perhaps Dick had gained a small dose of humanity after last night's events; maybe he wanted to pretend his little game didn't exist, if for a moment. He sat up beside his mentor and laid his hand on his scarred knee from so many prior encounters with men and women who wanted to hurt or even kill Bruce Wayne's secret identity. It was an unimportant thought to cross Dick's mind, but his nimble fingers traced one scar in particular, just above his knee. One Dick had inadvertently caused when he threw a batarang in a teenage hormonal rage at Bruce for being, what Dick thought anyways, an absolute ass. It was such a silly argument, one based completely on a lack of compromise between them—Dick because teenagers don't know how to compromise, and Bruce; well Bruce didn't need to compromise. He got everything he wanted and more in the end.

It was something that could both be admired, and repulsed. He continued to slowly trace the scar, his body inching closer to Bruce's body. "It should, and it did." He spoke candidly, if softly as to not disturb the overall quietness of his room. It _always_ happened in his bedroom; for good reason too, as Alfred never went to Dick's room first. He heard Bruce suck in a breath as he laid his head on his guardian's shoulder—muscled and bruised and scarred like much of his body. He couldn't help but smile at the warmth despite his desires not to.

In a moment the tension in the older man's body left, Dick's warmth probably doing as much for him as Bruce's was for Dick. Dick would see the questions and thoughts running through the older man's mind; of course Dick was right when he said it did happen—multiple times it happened after all, but should it have? Should it really? For a man who usually had all the answers, for one he felt as lost as he did when he was a child. "Dick, this is—"

Dick groaned, a little more loudly than he had intended. "Wrong, I know." He interrupted with a grimace. "I don't care." Mentally he added how much he absolutely _adored_ being able to lord over his mentor, even if it was from the shadows. It was a win for all involved; both got a release and Dick…

"It isn't whether or not you _care_; it is about how things _are_." Bruce countered; his moral convictions always made Dick want to grind his teeth, that time was absolutely no different. "We have to stop whatever this is. How did this even happen?"

That was a good question, one that neither could very well answer as both their ideas on the entire _affair_ differed. What the two could agree on was it started one month ago after Bruce returned one night on patrol with Todd. Dick attributed it to need, he needed someone to treat him like a fragile doll one moment and then handle him to the point of, even beyond, breaking the next—he used to have that relationship with Bruce as Robin, but with Jason now as Robin it felt as though he had taken the back-burner. Sure he himself had decided to move on from his role as the boy wonder, but he didn't realize what he would be giving up. When it did dawn on him he planned, planned how to attain his needs.

Alfred had accompanied Jason up to bed to make sure he actually went to sleep; Bruce busied himself on the Batcomputer, his bat suit only half off as he tapped away at the keys with determination shining in his blue eyes. Dick knew he shouldn't have been down there so late at night; he had an early morning class, he had a lengthy day ahead of him and already spent a few hours out as Nightwing, he had been exhausted. But to see that determination, to see his mentor, his guardian, his idol underdressed; his plan had to be put into action _then_ and _there_.

It had been difficult at first to coax Bruce—he had his moral objections to the practice from the start. Dick simply ignored them as he kissed down the older man's neck, pulling and tugging at the remnants of the bat suit. Bruce pushed on him again and Dick whined, stopping his ministrations to whimper—pathetically so—into the man's ear, hot and breathy. "I need you Bruce." The simple whimper led to retreating into the Manor in a fevered storm of kisses and groping all the way to Dick's room followed by the obvious and inevitable—exactly what Dick had wanted. Bruce was a gentle and as _brutal_ in bed as he was at everything else.

It was no secret to Dick that Bruce felt _he_ had been the one to start the affair; it didn't take the world's greatest detective to notice. Still during the day he acted as though nothing happened at night with Dick Grayson, he stayed calm and aloof, probably mentally noting to himself how he would never allow it to happen again—each time with fail. Dick knew Bruce Wayne well, very well, and hypothesized Bruce blamed himself because he was older, he was the _father_ (adoptive or no made little difference), and he had many pressing matters to worry about than how to handle Dick Grayson. Joker, Bane, Poison Ivy, a slew of nameless thugs, Wayne Enterprises… All were far more important than containing Dick Grayson.

Dick didn't know how long he had been in his little reverie but he finally pulled from it with a gentle laugh. "I wanted it."

"You're too young to know what you want."

It almost sounded accusatory, and extremely hypocritical. Dick hummed thoughtfully as he pulled away from his guardian, untangling himself from the sheets and pulling himself up to his feet. "If I remember correctly you've been taking what you want since before I was born." It was a cool statement, a passive-aggressive hint of annoyance. "You should leave, Alfred will be awake soon."

"Dick—"

"It _is_ almost sunrise, wouldn't want to explain to him why you're in my bed _naked_ and not in your own."

That made Bruce practically spring from his place as though something hot poked him and he began to gather his clothing strewn about the room.

With a satisfied grin he too started to make himself decent, though not without sneaking glances as he pulled a thermal over his lithe chest. Without another word from Bruce he left, and Dick didn't even bother to stop him. They would be together in the room again—wrapped in the familiar scent of sex and sweat, entangled in sheets and one another's limbs until Bruce awoke and his routine self-pity began.

Maybe Dick would turn over and pretend to sleep, maybe he would again try to confront the man, maybe he would try something new to see how far he could push and how much he could gain from the man. Either way their days would follow as nothing ever happened and most nights would be filled with bated breath and the closest thing to romance Bruce was capable to giving.


	2. One year

Humanity

Author Note: Mild OOCness, I think. I'm not exactly sure why I decided to tack on to this, I felt the first chapter was just absolutely perfect the way it was. Guess I've just been bored, and amazed at my lack of submissions of the M rated variety. I am not completely sure how I feel about this chapter, and I feel like it asks more questions than it answers, but I suppose this is my brain's way of telling me to continue with the basic premise I started with and have it come full circle.

Fair warning, has not been combed for errors. See any? Let me know! Also, please review. Maybe?

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><p>As he slammed his nimble young lover against the wall adjacent to the bed it became painfully obvious he had a hard time distinguishing between <em>need<em> and _want_ when he felt both pulse through his veins like a wild fire. He palmed greedily, so greedily, at the wanton flesh constrained in cotton; his lover made it equally obvious he wanted more than just heavy petting, and oh how he wanted to give it. Their mouths clashed in a searing kiss of lips and teeth and tongue, each begging to feel and taste every sweet, familiar corner. Softly he heard his lover groan "I need you Bruce, _you_" in a breathless purr; it proved too much, even for _Batman's_ resolve.

With a low, animalistic growl he clawed at the remainder of his lover's clothes—his lover doing the same for him albeit with far more control—tossing and letting them fall where they may without any inhibitions whatsoever. The smallest of voices in the back of his brain told him that, come morning, he would fall into The Pattern. The Pattern he would promise himself to break in the earliest recesses of the morning, The Pattern that gave him the most wonderful and destructive feelings he had ever felt, The Pattern that threatened to destroy every value and principle he had worked so hard to keep alive—even at the threat of his own happiness. All because of _his_ heir, _his_ pupil, _his_ Dick Grayson.

Another growl, possessive and short, emitted from his throat as their hardened members pressed against one another and all his thoughts went out the window in a flash. Dick moaned against Bruce's lips from the purity of their contact, his hot breath tingling the older man's skin like some wonderful drug. In a fit of passion, Bruce forced their lips together in another bruising kiss, slowly guiding them towards the bed.

It took them only moments to situate themselves. Dick gave a pleasurable hum as the bed give in to his weight, urging Bruce on top of him and securing the man there by wrapping his legs around his muscled waist. The older man gave a soft chuckle, caressing Dick's cheek and nibbling along his lover's jaw. "I need you Bruce." His young lover whispered once more, his hips pressing seductively again Bruce's body. "_Please_."

Bruce inhaled sharply and moved his caressing hand to grip Dick's thigh. Another plea, followed by Bruce taking another inhale, he had to maintain some control, lest he hurt Dick. _Take your time, take _my_ time,_ he told himself with shut eyes and willed himself to ignore the painful beg of his cock, egging him to just take his lover dry and hard. The thought made the darker parts of his mind claw to the front like hungry beasts, but he quickly shook it away by straightening up and lightly swatting away Dick's legs. It took a bit to coax the man to loosen his grip, but once he did Bruce shimmied down and pressed kisses and bites along Dick chest and abdomen, each nip and suck rewarded with a small mewl of appreciation.

As he neared Dick's manhood he gave a satisfied smile, massaging the thick, coarse hair and adjusting the hot piece of flesh to rest against his lips. Below him, Dick squirmed and fisted the bed sheets in anticipation of what was to come, his hips occasionally jerked upward in the hopes to entice Bruce—not that the playboy, billionaire, philanthropist needed much enticing by that point. Tentatively, Bruce's tongue slipped out and licked along the underside of Dick's swollen manhood, savoring his taste. Dick shifted, a small moan reverberating in his chest. In Bruce's mind he could hear his lover screaming "stop teasing me!"

He chuckled to himself as he opened his mouth and engulfed Dick, sucking and wetting the hot sex and drank in Dick's hushed moans. He gingerly gripped the base of his lover's cock and started a rhythm as he continued to suck. Dick fidgeted and twitched; one of his hands reached out and fisted Bruce's hair as he begged for more. It continued as such until Dick, rather timidly, whimpered about how he was so close to coming. Forcing down a grin, Bruce began to go faster, his tongue massaged Dick's cock repeatedly until, with a happy moan, his lover came hot into his mouth. He pulled away slight and drank Dick's cum, his tongue dashed out after to greedily lick up the rest of the spunk.

"I'm still horny Bruce." Dick purred in a seductive coo as he moved to adjust himself onto his belly. Bruce sighed and grasped onto Dick to keep him still. "What…?"

"I want to watch you."

Even in the dark, the Bat knew Dick had paled at the request, given their prior confrontations. He felt his throat close in fear of rejection, but he swallowed and willed himself to relax.

"Ok." The reply came so softly that Bruce nearly missed it, but as Dick nestled back down against his pillows he couldn't help but feel a twinge of happiness. Dick slowly lifted his leg to rest on Bruce's shoulder, his breathing becoming slow and quiet. Bruce took it as invitation to slowly massage the warm, tight pucker; his noted how Dick hummed in pleasure and how his manhood quickly swelled again with want.

A part of his mind started to go analytical on him, whispering to his conscious how what he was doing was wrong, how he would beat himself up over it come morning… Dick pulled them in to another kiss and again all his concerns fled from his mind. They broke apart and Dick reached over to his nightstand and opened the drawer to pull out a bottle of lubricant. After that, very little time was wasted. The flurry of their kisses, the rush of hands that groped at sweaty and wonton flesh, and the lovely pressure of what was to come.

Between their kisses, Bruce pulled away and lathered his fingers with the lubricant. Promptly he busied his fingers to service his lover's entrance, whimpers and throaty moans of excitement his reward. Without even a slight warning he pushed in a single finger up to the knuckle, and was rewarded with another moan.

With deft precision he started to ease his finger out and in, the muscles tighten and relaxed against his intrusion, over and over. With the same precision he exercised in everything else he added a second finger, increased his speed and depth which he intruded. Below him, Dick mewled and whimpered in choked breaths as to not disturb anyone else in the manor. Dick was not exactly a screamer, but he loved to make noise which resulted in a few close calls in the past.

Bruce rubbed his free hand over Dick's stomach to soothe him as he scissored the man open—more moans, louder than the previous ones, and Bruce's fortitude buckled. He _needed_ to _make love_ to Dick Grayson.

Passion ate away the rest of his usual cold detachment and he rammed a third finger into Dick; it wouldn't be enough to erase the pain completely as he usually strove to do when he took his lover, but it would take the edge off. Given the way Dick was writhing and moaning to take him, it was enough for both of them.

He pulled his fingers out, grabbed the lubricant again to slick down his length, and adjusted Dick's legs to encircle his waist. Dick fidgeted slightly from the lack of control, but otherwise made no objections; not that he had much time as Bruce grabbed the man's hips and dragged him down, slowly, onto his thick, rigid cock. Dick gripped the sheets with a wordless scream as he was invaded, way beyond wholly by Bruce.

Both stayed still to relish in the moment; Dick's hands found their way to grip Bruce's shoulders, nails digging in as the initial pain began to ebb and avarice overtook them both; they had to feel every centimeter of skin to sate their lust. They felt through the dark to kiss one another, Bruce's hips moved with great care out of his lover—a moan caught in Dick's throat from the pain—before once again he pushed back in. Another moan followed the action. Bruce tried to keep his lover focused on their kisses as he nibbled and sucked his lower lip. Every so often he would whisper to the writhing man sweet words, compliments, words of adoration and _love_.

Dick would reply with moans and gropes—nails dug into Bruce's shoulders or back—or the occasional affectionate nuzzle. As Dick's body started to reject the intrusion less and take more in, harder and deeper, usually marked the start of the wild, borderline frenzy sex. Bruce would slam into him without mercy and with designed precision—just as the Bat would intend. That night was… different, softer, and neither one stopped.

Their very souls seemed to link. It scared and amazed Bruce and shook him to his very core; as he felt Dick's body again him, his want twitch between them, the moans he tried to bite back, he knew that Dick felt the same.

"You're crying."

The words were choked. They ceased all movement as Bruce reached up to feel beneath his eyes—he was crying.

"I am too…" Dick continued confusion marred his usual self-assuredness. "Why?"

Bruce remained silent for a long moment. "I love you, Dick."

"Bruce I—" Bruce hushed him with a kiss out of fear of what he had to say; again he rocked into Dick's body with the same tenderness as before. His words stopped short in his throat and was drowned by moans.

Their love making—or whatever it was—last for what seemed like hours; they toed the edge to bliss multiple times until their peaks finally reached. Dick came first, their abdomens coated in his hot desire as his muscles contracted and relaxed. Only moments passed before Bruce followed, his cum flowed and claimed his lover as stars danced in his eyes.

Lips connected in another searing kiss and Bruce's hand snaked through Dick's long ebon hair as they lain in one another's arms, both spent and satisfied, with sneaked kisses and nuzzles. "I don't want to sleep."

The whisper broke through the older man's haze. "Why not?"

"I want this to last, "he hesitated, "I want this to last forever, Bruce."

"Sleep, Dick. Sleep." He kissed Dick's forehead and brought him closer; in his head his sense started to return, to tell him he was wrong for what he had done, for the happiness he achieved despite in Dick's arms…

"What happened wasn't your fault, Bruce."

Yes it was, but he knew better than to argue with Dick so close to sleep. "Of course."

"You said you loved me."

"Yes." With another kiss he asked Dick to sleep, and gradually their eyes shut, still clung to one another in what could be called desperation.

Bruce awoke first the following morning, just as the sun started to peek from the horizon in the east. His eyes focused and his immediate first thought was to look to the warmth beside him. His heart fluttered with a furry of emotion, but the regret was absent. For the first time in a long time he looked at Dick and became captivated—utterly captivated. He delicately reached his hand out and ghosted his fingers along the refined jawline and swollen lips, the stubble reminding older man of just how much Dick had grown.

As if the sex they had been routinely having did not do that enough. A soft grunt escaped from Dick and Bruce's hand was swatted away; it had not been done in malice, but in the deep sleep of a tired young man. Bruce laughed quietly to himself as he slipped from the bed and started to collect his clothing, his mind set to wander. As he tossed the white button-down shirt over his shoulders and began to button up he heard Dick begin to stir.

"I know you're the type to hit it and quit it, but to get caught?"

He winced slightly at Dick's words and peered over to look at him. He didn't exactly look upset; in fact there was a shadow of a smile played on his lips. "I need to get out of here before Alfred wakes up."

"I know." A heavy silence settled between them, save the shuffling of Bruce getting dressed. Suddenly, behind him, Dick came up and wrapped his arms tight around Bruce's middle. "What happened to Jason wasn't your fault, Bruce." A small part of Bruce made him feel as though he didn't know what to say; he really didn't know what to say. It became evident by his silence that he didn't, and Dick quickly caught on, so he continued to talk. "It's been a year; I had hoped that by now you would have realized that."

He continued to babble, but none of it registered. A bubble of emotion seemed to pop and suddenly it just felt to be too much to be in that room; the regret started to settle in. With a bit too much force, he pushed Dick off of him and finished dressing. Behind him he continued to hear Dick babble—now with far more emotion.

Just as he was about to leave the room, something pulled him out from his stupor—something thrown at the back of his head. It wasn't anything particularly dangerous, and as he turned around to look at his offender his noticed out of the corner of his eye the bottle of lubricant—it made him flush slightly; however he listened to Dick was yelling.

"You told me you loved me!"

He had practically yelled it, and he wasn't done there. "Last night, you said you loved me. Again! And I – I. God damn it Bruce."

Bruce stood there for a long minute—amazed and confused by Dick's sudden loss of control before it finally clicked. He stared at the man before him in all his shame. No, he had nothing of shame, it was all beauty; every muscle, every centimeter of bronzed skin, all his glory and splendor. More emotion surged through his veins, but it was a far more carnal. He hung his head, mostly in shame that he would feel that particular emotion in that situation. "I should leave."

"No, not until you tell me why you would say that if you didn't mean it!" Dick stepped closer and made it harder for Bruce's head to stay out of the gutter. "Well?"

"Now isn't the time, Dick." He and tore his eyes away from the man, the raw eroticism of the naked man before him—hot and shaking in a barely contained rage—gnawed at his resolve.

Dick breathed heavily before he stomped over towards his dresser and ransacked through them. "Get out."

And that was the end of it. Bruce looked over and opened his mouth to speak before he closed it again with the realization it was a useless endeavor, that he had messed up, and grabbed his wingtip shoes and left, his heart heavy and torn.


	3. One year and one day

Humanity

Author's note: The plot developed itself despite my best wishes and will involve a teeny bit of retcon where Stephanie's concerned. A bit of constructive criticism would be much appreciated.

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><p>"You're leaving, huh?"<p>

Dick stopped momentarily; "caught red-handed" flashed in his head before he calmed his beating heart and slung his old rucksack over his shoulder. "Yeah, Blüdhaven requires Nightwing's attention." For a moment he looked up to the ceiling and realized just how much like Bruce he sounded when it came to the Batman. It made him blanch before he recomposed and looked back towards his door. He offered the boy in the doorway a sympathetic smile of apology. "I'll try to get back as soon as possible, Timmy." It was something he knew he couldn't keep. Not after all that had happened

Dejectedly, the young teenager entered the room with a feigned look of apathy, but the sadness rolling off him in waves. "You two fought again, didn't you? Was it over me?"

"Tim, no… It isn't at all like that." He heaved a heavy sigh, a headache threatened to grow and he pinched the bridge of his nose in the hope to ward it off. "It's just personality conflict; it isn't because of you at all, and don't even think that again. Understood?"

"I heard you two talking last night, and this morning. You were talking about Jason, about…"

Dick sighed and closed the gap between them and threw an arm around Tim in a hug. "I guess we should talk, huh bud?"

Tim faltered a moment before he nodded. "I guess, but leave the backpack would you? I don't want you skipping out the minute you're done."

"You are a bright little pain in my ass, you know that?" Dick couldn't help but chuckle as he dropped the backpack to the ground and affectionately ruffled his little brother's hair. "We can take a walk around the grounds."

Once outside they stayed rather quiet for some time. Tim huddled against his sweater for warmth and Dick threw his arm around the younger to keep him warm with a half mutter to himself about how he should have had Tim put on a jacket. Still, the teen didn't seem to mind. In fact it seemed to soothe him. "So what all did you hear last night?" Dick finally asked, rather bluntly after consideration of his normal demeanor.

"Enough." Tim replied cryptically, his eyes downcast. "I've put most of the puzzle pieces together, but some I'm still questioning where they should go."

"Take it you heard the screaming match in the cave then."

"Yeah, about Jason, about Bruce's complete inability get over loss, all of it. When it got quiet I high tailed it out of there. What happened?"

Dick pursed his lips; mentally he rearranged the words again and again in his head to find a way to phrase the answer without giving too much away. None of it worked. Finally he gave up with a shrug and tossed caution to the wind. "You're fifteen, sure you've heard worse than what I'm about to say. We did what we always end up doing during a fight—we gave up and vented our frustrations out with sex."

In his arm Dick felt Tim tighten before he relaxed again, as if the information was barely registered, immediately after the younger gave a short-lived laugh. It held no hint of disgust or condescension, but actually relieved. It made Dick suddenly feel uncomfortable—as if Tim knew something Dick didn't.

"So that's how the whole "you told me you loved me" thing ties in with what happened last night."

Dick grunted in annoyance. "Yeah, I guess. Why are you so comfortable talking about this? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, running away or something? Telling me that our relationship is sick, stupid, or something other than asking me questions."

"Dick, I've been tracking Batman since you were Robin; I kept my eye on him when you were dismissed and Jason took up after you. If you honestly think I didn't notice that Bruce loved you, you're an idiot."

Dick halted. He accidently jerked Tim back in the process, but he was far too shocked to apologize for it. "What?"

"You didn't… you didn't _know_?"

"You should get inside because you catch a cold. I need to—I have to pay Barbara a visit. It's been awhile since I last stopped by. Be good for Al."

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><p>As he opened the door to the apartment he was suddenly assaulted by the dim smell of acetone and alcohol. "Babs?"<p>

"In here, boy wonder!"

Dick felt his skin crawl and he involuntarily made a disgusted face at the nickname as he gently closed the apartment door behind him. "The Comish isn't lurking around, is he?"

"Course he isn't, or else I wouldn't be painting my nails. Now get in here, I am not getting my nails messed up to greet you."

He tried not to smile at the former Batgirl's feistiness and instead tried to play up his annoyed face. He rounded the corner into the tight living room his façade immediately faltered and he busted out ear-to-ear in a grin. The red head was parked at her usual spot by the computer, a bottle of nail polish and remover perched precariously on the desk besides her, intently focused on her nails—some an extremely bright pink while others were still unpainted, but the vigilante could assume not for much longer. No matter her physical limitations she was damned sure to live her life however she felt fit. For a moment he wondered why he ever broke it off with her.

Then it hit him and immediately soured his mood.

"What's the problem Dickie?"

Dick made a grumble noise as he moved to sit on the couch beside her and pulled his jacket closer to his body. "It's long and complicated."

Barbara got quiet for a moment and moved to place the nail polish away. "That's what I'm here for Dickie. I'm always here for you! C'mon, wheel me closer so we can talk."

With a contemplative pause he agreed and dragged Barbara right in front of him and leaned back against the couch, suddenly overcome with embarrassment. "It's hard to explain. Just don't—don't say anything until I've finished explaining." Across from him Barbara nodded vigorously, urged him to continue.

"Bruce and I have been—we've been," he swallowed thickly, inched closer to Barbara and lowered his voice, "Last night he was in his usual haunting ground, just staring at Jason's costume. I—it happened so fast, but we ended up in my room. We've ended up in my room a lot in the last two years…"

True to her word Barbara didn't speak a word, but her eyes did widen—and seemed to sparkle in a way that made Dick suddenly feel uncomfortable, just like Tim's did. "Just sex, nothing else between us at all. At least, I'd thought there wasn't until over a year ago." He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. "He told me that he loved me. I didn't say anything, I couldn't say anything! Then he said it again last night and I…" he trailed off, his voice betrayed him and started to crack.

It took him a moment to calm his nerves; Barbara still clung to his words. "I fucked up big time Barbara. This whole thing started because of me—I'm the one that kissed him, bated him really. Two years, two fucking years, how the hell was I supposed to know this would happen? How was I supposed to know that he…?"

Barbara continued to stay silent, but by that time she had coaxed Dick's feet onto her lap, discarded the boots and socks carefully beside her, and had started to paint his toenails the obnoxiously bright pink. She urged him to continue with a nudge of her hands, so he did. "Every morning he acts like we had committed some terrible sin. This morning he just fought with me, he left me. I just wanted to comfort him, let him know I…I love him, Babs. I want to grab his neck and squeeze most days, but I love him."

She looked up from her work on his toenails and searched for some sign to see if she could throw in her two cents. Dick had the same sort of finality as Bruce did, thus made it easy to pick up on. She returned her gaze to Dick's toes and spoke softly. "I take it he wouldn't let you say anything again last night too?"

In her periphery she saw Dick nod.

"The lifestyle he has decided to lead has a lot of risks—Jason's dead, I'm perpetually stuck in a sitting position—and he wanted you to know, in case anything ever happened to him, that he loves you."

"Then why won't he let me say it back when I feel it, too?"

"He doesn't think he deserves it, Dick."

He gave a juvenile little huff. "Why not!?"

"You're his ward, his raised you since you were nine, he's Batman, you were his Robin, he's dumb! Pick a reason."

Dick stayed quiet for a long moment and watched as she painted his nails. He found it hard to be miffed over it when his head was busy on thoughts of Bruce. "How do you know all this, Barbara?" he finally asked.

"Honestly, mostly on intuition, you two have loved each other for a long time, doesn't take a detective to see that."

"How long have you known?"

"Meh I think it was some point between you always choosing Batman over me, and then breaking up with me shortly thereafter just flipped the metaphorical light switch on."

Dick gave a childish huff. "What should I do about this, o wise Oracle?"

"Personally, I think you should let Bruce know. He has to know how you feel about him—in front of the whole Bat family ideally or at least in front of Stephanie! She and I have a bet going."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Just as it sounds—she bet me that you two would never come to terms with your relationship. I, of course, had to disagree. I want to win, Dick. Let me win, please?"

She batted her eyelashes at Dick sweetly. The uncomfortable feeling he had felt earlier started to set in—it seemed he was the last to know about the obvious inevitability of his and Bruce's relationship. "Get this stupid nail polish off me."

"But Dickie, I spent so much time on all this! Wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste, would you?"

Under his breath he whispered "I'll show you a waste you red-headed demon-lady."

"What was that Dick? You should really speak up."

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><p>Tim hummed thoughtfully to himself and leaned against the counter, his eyes rested on Alfred as if half-tempted to ask a question as each possible scenario filtered through his mind. Finally he seemed to decide to ask his question. He grabbed a muffin and hopped onto the counter beside Alfred.<p>

"So, what was Bruce like when he was a kid?"

Alfred blinked and looked up at Tim, who seemed to have busied himself with a muffin. "What brings this line of questioning, Master Timothy?"

The boy shrugged and took a bite of his muffin with a decidedly bored expression. "No reason Al, curious." He continued with a mouthful.

"I do suggest you don't talk with your mouth full, Master Timothy. You could choke." Alfred replied pointedly with a wrinkle of his nose to show his distaste. "Though I suppose you could say Master Bruce was," he paused, his eyes thoughtful and nostalgic, "a lot like Master Richard."

"Bruce like Dick?" Tim quirked a brow though it quickly relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, I can see it. Dick's a lot like Bruce now, only makes sense. You think they make a good pair?"

It was Alfred's turn to raise an eyebrow. He rested the head of lettuce he had been preparing for dinner on the countertop and stared right at Tim, as if to ask what he meant by that.

"Face it Al, you already knew."

Tim's deadpanned reply, so much like Bruce's, made a smile twitch at the corners of Alfred's lips. "You always were a perceptive boy—"

"—to be fair, Dick sort of filled in the blanks this morning."

Alfred gave a rare chuckle at Tim's interrupt before he continued. "I did indeed, but that is their business. I have already informed Bruce, countless times, he should do something that makes him happy." He finished diplomatically as he picked up a knife and started to cut the head of lettuce.

The rhythmic chop of Alfred's knife cut between them, and for some reason Tim felt rather cheated. "I take it you aren't all giddy over the idea of Bruce and Dick?"

"Oh heavens I hadn't meant it like that." He gave a knowing smile. "But Master Bruce needs to learn to allow himself be happy, regardless of my personal feelings or preconceptions."

"But what if Bruce doesn't—"

Alfred threw up his hand to silence the vexed boy. "Master Bruce already let him get away once; I doubt he would make the same mistake twice."

Tim bit the inside of his cheek, not quite sure if he bought the pitch or not. "Fine, but answer another question if you don't mind?"

"I do believe you already asked another question, but I suppose I could allow just one more."

"How did Bruce and Tim act? Before me, before Jason—when Dick first came to the manor."

Again the nostalgia shone in his eyes. "Happy."

"Happy…" Tim repeated, and he smiled.

Their chat was cut short by soft footsteps just outside the kitchen doorway and the ruffle of a leather jacket thrown against the wall. "Someone remind me why I go over there?"

"Do I smell nail polish?"

"Don't ask, Tim."

"I do believe he already has, sir." Alfred reminded pointedly, still focused on his prep work.

Dick sighed and slumped down at the counter beside Tim. "Don't you start in on me too, Alf. I've had enough lip from people today."

Tim snickered and ruffled his brother's hair in a sort of mock revenge. "Someone's in a bad mood. Here I thought Barbara was your best friend."

"Tim, anyone ever tell you to put a sock in it? Just someone tell me when dinner is, and never let me go all day on nothing but snacks and air ever again."

"Well if one of you would be a dear and fetch Miss Stephanie for me, we could have dinner now." Alfred interjected.

Dinner had started as a silent affair; Stephanie attempted conversation more than once with help from Tim and even Alfred, but none stuck due to Dick's uncharacteristically silent disposition. Halfway through the salads their silence was interrupted by loud bangs, a crash, and a deep groan. Alfred, Dick, Stephanie, and Tim were to their feet and rushed to the doorway, where just outside in the hallway was Batman in full costume, doubled over against the wall for support.

Immediately, they all knew something was wrong—Bruce never wore the Batsuit inside the manor unless there was something deeply wrong—and Dick was first to snap from the shock and rush to the Bat's side. "He's bleeding!"

Alfred already had his jacket tossed off and his crisp white sleeves rolled up over his elbows. "Get him downstairs immediately."

It took the combined efforts of Dick, Stephanie, and Tim to get Batman through the narrow passageway into the Batcave, but it only took Dick to get the costumed crusader onto the operating table. The three backed away like scared children as Alfred worked to patch up Batman, unsure of what to do despite the commonality of the situation. Each time it still felt like some big surprise to see a man they deemed was untouchable lay writhing on an operating table—fragile morality usually masked behind a cowl and cape and darkness.

The three stayed back and watched for what felt like hours as Alfred worked to pull the bullets embedded in his abdomen, to stitch up the bloody mess with a stony resolve and expertise. At some point the shock forced the Bat to black out, so no information could be garnered—which proved only to irk Dick, annoy him to the point of anger.

"It may take some time for Master Bruce to come to, I suggest you three return to the manor and—"

"No Alfred, I'm not going anywhere. Not until I figure out who did this." Dick snapped; his eyes light dangerous as he stalked over towards the Batcomputer with determination.

Stephanie and Tim looked at each other, a silent conversation between the two ensued before they each nodded and Stephanie grabbed Dick's shoulder. "Tim and I will filter through the media channels and pinpoint Batman's last location. You need to stay with him."

"Yeah Dick, Steph and I got this. We're better detective than you are anyways!"

Dick snorted, though attempted a smile for Tim's and Stephanie's sakes. "Fine."

Alfred simply sighed as he started to clean. "I suppose I shouldn't bother reminding that it is a school night…"

* * *

><p>"Jason…!"<p>

Dick jumped and threw his hands on Bruce's shoulders to calm and ease him back down onto the table. "Whoa, whoa Batman, calm down. What about Jason?" Batman breathed heavily and removed his cowl to cool his heated body. Dick watched carefully, his own heart nearly burst from his chest as he waited. "What about Jason?" he repeated.

There was a long stretch of silence between them as Bruce evened out his breathing. "I—never mind. It was nothing." He relaxed and closed his eyes.

"Right, adrenaline rush…" Dick's eyes averted to the cowl in Bruce's hand and gingerly worked it from the man's grasp. "Why didn't you call in for back-up? Any one of us would have come to help you! Maybe then you wouldn't be laying here."

He was replied with a grunt and nothing more. Dick snorted and looked down at the cowl, an idea started to spawn. With cowl in hand he walked towards the Batcomputer where Stephanie and Tim were still hard at work, each took turns with suggestions on what to do and how to find out who was the culprit behind Batman's injuries. "Check to see if Batman took any recordings tonight."

Stephanie and Tim both swiveled around to look at Dick. "Why didn't I think of that?" Stephanie finally shouted excitedly; her voice reverberated loudly in the cave and she murmured a tiny "oops."

Tim rolled his eyes and bumped her out of the way to tap at the keys. "Looks like you had a good idea Dick. One recording at nineteen-hundred—"

"—what was Batman doing out at seven I wonder?"

"Quiet Steph! One recording at nineteen-hundred that is twelve seconds long."

Dick pursed his lips for a moment. "Play it."

The three looked up at the screen as Tim pressed play. As they stared up they were greeted with an obvious battle scene. Much of the video was covered by smoke—probably from a pellet Batman had dropped to disorient his foe, but by the flawless execution of parries and counters by the leather-clad man the smoke seemed to do little, if anything, to deter the opponent.

Dick may not have been a detective on Bruce's level, or even Tim's, but he wasn't an idiot. The man on the twelve seconds of video was no common street criminal. On the last second Dick watched as the mystery man moved his hand behind his back, just as he started to move it back he caught a glimpse of solid metal. Then the feed cut. Without any instruction Stephanie rewound the playback and paused.

"This guy, whoever he is, was trained." She noted aloud, her face pulled into a contemplative look.

"Yeah, just look at those moves. No way had he just learned that on the streets, not even Gotham streets."

"What I want to know is what's with the damn mask, and how the hell Batman got into a scuffle with this guy to begin with." Both teenagers turned to look at the older, both rather perturbed by darkness that befell the usually optimistic young man. "Don't look at me like that. You were wondering it too."

Behind them Alfred cleared his throat. "It is nearly five in the morning. Would it be too much for me to ask the three of you to get some sleep?"

"Isn't like we are going to get much more out of the footage and Bruce doesn't seem to be in a talkative mood. I'm done." Dick finally conceded. He patted both Stephanie and Tim on the head. "You two should probably hit the hay too."

* * *

><p>Try as he might, Dick just couldn't soothe his mind enough to sleep. He sat up and punched at his pillows to fluff them, numerous times, to no avail. Just beyond his window he could see the sun had started to rise and made him admit to himself that he was worried. Worried about the mystery man… No, he was worried about <em>Bruce<em>. It annoyed him greatly, especially since he knew Bruce would be perfectly fine.

_Or is he?_ A little voice in his head taunted. He gave a choked sigh before he got up and shook the negative thoughts from his mind on pure willpower. _No, Bruce will be fine. He has to be_. On autopilot his feet drove him towards the door way, then down the hall… He was too tired to even fight with himself, he knew where his feet wanted to go, and he was not about to stop it.

He creaked open the door to the master suite—Bruce's room. There was no one in there, Dick didn't expect there to be since Bruce was likely still in the Batcave. He tiptoed into the room and closed the door as silently as he could behind him and went over to the bed. Dick sighed almost happily as he lain on the bed—it felt foreign for a moment before he eased into it, the scent of Bruce Wayne lulled his senses and wrapped him in comfort he didn't think he would feel. He pulled the blanket covers over his chest and snuggled in; the silence was short-lived as the door creaked open again and a head poked in.

"Dick, can we join you?"

The young man couldn't help but smile a bit at Stephanie's question. He sat up and motioned her to come in and she did, followed by Tim who shut the door.

"Worried about Bruce too, huh?" Dick asked with a feigned casualness as the two teenagers joined him in the bed and burrowed under the covers along with Dick.

"Tim won't admit it, but yeah. We both are." Stephanie murmured as she wrapped her arms around Dick's waist to give him a snuggle.

"How did you know I'd be in here?"

"I figured you'd be worried and you would either end up in here or down in the Batcave." Tim answered innocently. "You really are easy to read."

The three said nothing more on the subject for sleep started to drown their senses and hunkered down to finally get some rest.

* * *

><p>"Do you always just lay there for hours when you wake up?"<p>

"Huh? I'm sorry Timmy, did I wake you up?"

Tim smirked and sat up. "No, just been watching you. Mind if I ask you something about you and Bruce?"

Dick gawked for a moment before he sat up too and composed himself. "You can ask, but I probably won't answer."

The younger looked down at Stephanie, who was still fast asleep, before back to Dick. "How did you and Bruce act when you first came to the manor?"

"That's kind of a strange question, don't you think?" he muttered and drew his knees to his chest. "I was _nine_ when I moved in, it wasn't like we…" he trailed off, his cheeks flushed to a rather bright red.

"I know I just want to know how you two acted."

"Like pals, I guess. Heh, he used to call me chum. We did everything together, we trained, we talked, and we had fun. Even crime fighting back then was a lot different; it almost feels like a whole different life now." Dick reminisced, blue eyes muddled with emotion as if he longed for those days again.

"What changed?"

"I—I don't know. The criminals stopped seeing me as just some kid, they started seeing me for the threat I really was. The Joker… Joker was first to actually _target_ me, stabbed me in the leg. Then Bruce changed. Batman was always distant, but then Bruce became distant too. He loved me as both Bruce and Batman, I know he always did, but he stopped calling me chum, started being harder on me with the training, with the criminals. I tried not to mind, I knew why he was doing it, but it felt like…"

"Like he was cutting himself off." Tim finished helpfully.

"Bingo. Can I tell you something and trust you not to tell it to anyone else?"

"Of course Dick, I am great with keeping secrets. You should know that by now."

"Heh, you're right—whatever was I thinking!" he paused to smile and punch Tim affectionately. "I thought I started the whole thing with Bruce just to show him I had power over him, to play the leading role for once. I just wanted to be close to him again. Then Jason died. Apart of me really envies Jason for dying."

"I understand Dick, I understand…"


End file.
